


Abscondam

by davricks



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Murder Mystery, Southern Gothic AU, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Unspecified Setting, be patient with me while i work out the kinks, eventual yeehaw shit, gothic themes, pun intended, sansa is a badass sister-mom to her siblings, slow build up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 01:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davricks/pseuds/davricks
Summary: Tragedy after tragedy follows Sansa and her family, and when it’s all said and done, she’s left to pick up the pieces. Two years after possibly the second worst night of her life, an old family friend tries to squeeze into the picture, & odd occurences around her start to feel less like coincidence & more like haunting; not to mention, Sansa is about to make a shocking discovery that will change everything she thought she knew.





	Abscondam

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my lovely Twitter jonsas for feeding into this au idea. I just couldn't let it go and you guys really drove it home! My writing skills are lackluster at best, but here's to hoping you like this one, and to hoping you ask for more, cause I've definitely got it in the works!

Sansa's Papa had told her once that the Starks had supposedly lived 'round these parts for hundreds of years. She wondered sometimes if it hadn't been even longer.

Their house stood proud in the backwoods of Godseye, two-storied- not takin' account of the small attic- and coal grey. It sat on a generous plot of 20 acres, most of that being a wooded area and brush so thick and mangled you could get lost in it and freeze in the night if you weren't careful. The backyard was arguably its crowning glory, circular and surrounded by tight-packed trees; in the summer the scent of clean grass and wet dog pervaded. They would pick prickle-pears from the trees and play tag. Fall bought with it a menagerie of color, and with winter came crisp blankets of white snow perfect for playing in.

Over the years it had seen at least the last three generations of Starks come and go. Births and deaths. When Mama and Papa got married, and Robb was born. When Jon came to their home after Aunt Lyanna had died on her birthing bed. It saw Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon all come into the world in the upstairs bedroom underneath the watchful eye of the family nanny; Just “Nan”, they'd called her. She'd been gone years now.

It wasn't the fanciest of homes, but it was full of love and warmth. Or, it had been, anyway.

Bad Things tended to follow after other Bad Things, as Sansa had learned over the course of her short life.

She remembered all those bad nights in bitter detail, the waiting up, the painful blare of sirens and lights in the yard. She hadn't known anything was wrong 'til she heard the wailing comin' from Catelyn after she'd picked up the phone one night. She didn't even ask what it was; she just knew. Papa had been gone two whole days. He hadn't said where he was goin', or when he'd be back. He hadn't left a note or even the slightest bit of a clue.

She almost preferred those two long days to the part _after._ Sansa thought she liked it better when she didn't know. At least then they could pretend he was still alive somewhere.

He'd been found in the Mockingbird's Lake, face down and drowned.

Seeing as how it was on Baelish's property, the police had questioned him as thoroughly as possible; but if you asked Arya, that wasn't the case.

Everyone knew Petyr had the pigs in his well-lined pockets. Sansa refused to believe it. He'd been kind to them, and especially to her for as long as she'd known.

That had caused a hissed argument over the dinner table while Mama sat outside smokin' the last of her pack of menthols. Bran and Rickon sprawled on the floor playing, unaware of the tension in the room.

Robb's voice grumbled deep and authoritative. “That's enough of that, damnit. Pop went and got 'imself drunk and fell into the lake. I don't wanna believe it. I don't believe he's gone, but we gotta face the facts. He's dead. No conspiracy or accusin' will change it. Keep your mouths shut. If Ma hears you, there's no tellin' what it'll do to her.” He held himself up over them, arms braced on the table. Sansa was about to say something back, but the angry tears in her brother's eyes made her think twice.

Jon wasn't hardly ever in the house to take part in cryin' or arguin'. He spent his days out in the trees with Ghost; hiding or running from Papa's death, Sansa supposed.

Over the next few weeks, the ache of their loss stayed in their hearts, but the sting of it slowly began to fade. Robb and Jon seemed to swap personalities at that point. Robb had been leaving the house earlier and earlier in the mornings, and comin' home later and later. His younger siblings were lucky if they saw him at all some days.

Jon was growing closer to everyone, for a time. He played with Arya, Bran and Rickon in the yard, “sword-fighting” with sticks; making mud pies, pretending to be knights and dragons and princesses. One day he even “saved” Sansa from the terrible dragon holding her hostage, a tiny fierce curly-haired wild toddler with a toothy grin and his mama's freckled face. Rickon thought himself truly feral at times. He would listen to Sansa as she read to them, help Arya climb trees, and tell Bran about everything he was learning in their schooling lessons.

Meanwhile, Robb was growing absent, and Catelyn was depressed and distant.

The rest of that year felt like it wasn't even real. It passed by in a blur, and Sansa wished she could just go to sleep and never wake.

It was the type of crisp winter morning that Sansa loved. It would become one of the worst mornings of her life.

The screaming had woken her up. Bloodcurdling, heart-stopping screaming. Mama.

When Papa died, Sansa didn't see the body. She hadn't wanted to. She didn't want to this time, either. Hadn't meant to stumble on such a scene, but she did.

Robb's body was almost paper-white, lips and fingers nearly blue in the cold. He'd been propped up on the front porch right in front of the steps, knees bent in prayer, hands folded in front of his face. He was stiff, the rigor mortis and cold had set in and left him like that. What had sickened her the most was the blood. Gallons of it, it seemed. Too much for one body. Far too much. It pooled and nearly seemed to slush in his lap, ran down his legs onto the dark wood below. Sansa hadn't the mind to even think to stop her siblings from coming down the stairs. Their cries rung in her ears and echoed long after his body had been carried away by the mortuary.

That had been Catelyn's true breaking point.

The insult on top of it all; Jon's disappearance. In all the chaos, they hadn't noticed he'd gone, until Chief Trant pointed it out.

“Where's the other one?”

None of them knew how to answer.

She heard whispers of accusations that night. Suspicions and the occassional pity. It meant nothing. Jon was Jon. He and Robb were brothers, they may not have shared parentage, but they shared blood and home. She knew in her heart of hearts that he had not done it. She would never doubt that.

Bran and Rickon and Arya had holed up in their big sister's room, too afraid to be alone.

Catelyn had grabbed Sansa's arm in the living room that night before she'd gone up to join them. Her grip was steely, nails all but stabbing into Sansa's flesh. 

Her voice was low, shaking, tears threatening to spill over. “I need you to promise me something.” Her fingers dug into Sansa's arm, nearly hurting her with the force she used. “Look at me, look at me, sweet girl.”

She didn't want to. She didn't want any of this. She wanted Papa's arms around her. She wanted Robb, stern when he needed to be and bubbly all the rest of the time, she wanted Jon's shy smile and quiet eyes. She wanted things to be good again.

And yet, she looked. Papa would tell her to be brave. Robb would say “Do what needs done, little lady.” Jon would give her a pat on the head and a nod, but it would mean, “You've got this.”

The look on her mama's face terrified her. Desperate. Scared. She had never seen Mama scared before. The way the dim living room light shone down on her made her look decades older, covered half her face in bright yellow light, the other shadowed from the dark night comin' through the window. Sansa swallowed her fear. Do what needs done.

'Please...” Catelyn whimpered. “Protect your brothers and sister. No matter what, promise me you'll keep them safe. Promise!” she shook Sansa by the shoulders when she said this, and the red-haired girl wanted to cry.

“Mama, that hurts.”

Catelyn did not respond. She waited, breath hanging heavy in the cool midnight air.

“I promise.”

* * *

Catelyn did not survive the winter. A fever had taken ahold of her one especially cold night and had all but burned her inside out. The local doctors couldn't for the life of them find the source, nor alleviate her slowly deteriorating state. By the time she passed, she'd been slipping in and out of consciousnesss for days, mumbling gibberish and calling for her dead husband and son in her sleep.

Jon remained missing all that time, and in his absence the Stark children gradually gave up hope. 

The townsfolk pitied them, Sansa knew. It was no matter. She would be brave for Papa. She would do what needed done like Robb had said. She would keep her head up like she knew Jon would want. The Starks would do what they did best. They would endure. 

She would keep her mother's promise, in spite of all that loomed ahead.


End file.
